


and I, too, have tried to let it pass

by thegraceinyoureyes



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, so much fluff oh my god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 02:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7740100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegraceinyoureyes/pseuds/thegraceinyoureyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can’t keep staring at Dex’s face, not when he’s wearing that expression; like he’s looking into Derek’s fucking <i>soul</i>, and he’s not afraid of what he sees there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and I, too, have tried to let it pass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chartreuser](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chartreuser/gifts).



> Unbetaed so any mistakes are entirely my own.
> 
> Big thank you to [poindexte](http://poindexte.tumblr.com/) for the prompt: "Don't apologise. That's not the point. Did you mean it?" for her favourite pairing.
> 
> Title is from Are We There Yet? by Dobby Gibson - another thank you to Coco for introducing me to this!

“Don’t apologise. That’s not the _point_.” Dex huffs, a short, sharp, frustrated sound, as he passes a hand through his hair. “Did you mean it?”

Derek watches Dex. The flash of his eyes, the tightness to his shoulders, the unhappy tilt to his sharp mouth. Tries to read him. Can’t.

“I guess.” He hedges, dragging up his shoulders, exaggeratedly casual.

Dex just gives him a _look_ , one which is hard and disbelieving. They’ve reached that point in their coexistence - maybe its an Attic thing, a RansomandHolster, D-man thing - they can read one another with a look. Well, Dex can read _him_. Apparently his Dex-interpretation skills fell by the wayside sometime after his fourth drink.

Derek feels restless and upset, his throat thick, eyes scrunched against the threat of tears. Hurt and misery crawls beneath his skin. His limbs feel too tight; too hot; too much for him to handle. The alcohol has amplified it all. Head, spinning, feet, itching to run, hands, clenching and unclenching with the untapped energy thrumming through his veins.

He shudders out a breath. Forces calm. “It’s cool, man. Forget I ever said anything.”

“Nursey. That’s not the _point_.” Dex is closer, pressing a steady hand over Derek’s franticly beating heart. He must feel how fast it’s racing because he looks at Derek, eyes wide with something Derek absently identifies as wonder. “Nursey. Nurse.” A breath. “Derek.”

Derek’s eyes slip closed. He can’t keep staring at Dex’s face, not when he’s wearing that expression; like he’s looking into Derek’s fucking _soul_ , and he’s not afraid of what he sees there.

“Derek.” Dex repeats. “Jesus, I’m not doing this with you now.”

Strong, capable fingers wrap around Derek’s wrist and tug him away. He opens his eyes by necessity. If he trips and falls it’ll give Dex further ammunition, and he’s sacrificed more than enough already. Dex is leading them back into the Haus, Derek realises, and allows himself to be pulled along. He could do with another drink. Maybe a dance with a stranger, a quick fumble in a corner. Yeah, that was what Derek needed. A stranger’s hands and lips and mouth to sooth his tangled thoughts.

But Dex doesn’t let him go. Doesn’t press a beer into his hand with a ‘go get ‘em’ smirk and a promise from Derek to try not to damage any more of the Haus. He pulls him right through the door and up the stairs. Up again to the Attic. There, he relinquishes his hold, and turns to face Derek. His expression is serious and Derek thinks longingly of the party still raging downstairs.

“You, are going to bed. And in the morning we will talk about this, okay?”

There are literally a hundred thousand things Derek would rather do. He says as much and gets a face pulled at him for his trouble.

“Bed. Now.”

In all his fantasies of Dex saying those words to him, this was never how it played out; Dex standing firm with his arms crossed, looking for all the world like one of the Andover dorm mothers. Some part of Derek’s adolescent brain obeys and he stumbles towards the bunk beds, falling fully clothed onto his.

“ _Fine_.” He sighs, already plotting to sneak back down to the party as soon as Dex leaves.

Dex nods and, after a moment’s indecision plays out across his face, he sits down on the floor beside Derek’s bunk, his back to Derek.

“Uh, dude? What are you doing?”

“Sitting.”

“Uh, yeah, I can see that. But, like, why?”

Dex shrugs. “Guess I don’t want you to change your mind.”

Nurses stares at the back of Dex’s head. Watched the tips of his ears heat up.

“What?”

“You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you?” Dex sighs, long and put-upon. “Okay. So.” He stares resolutely at the wall in front of him. “I like you too, dumbass.” Quickly and firmly.

Derek ogles the back of his head.

When the silence threatens to stretch from awkward into painful, Dex sighs. “Okay so obviously I don’t know if you meant what you said, or if was just the effects of…” Dex trails off and swipes his hand through the air in a short, frustrated movement. “Y’know. And, like, I really, really don’t want it to be the case.” His voice goes soft. Derek wants nothing more than to kiss away the quietness, make him gasp and shout and exclaim to the world that he, William J. Pointdexter, likes Derek Malik Nurse.

Before he can put thought into sluggish motion, Dex is speaking again, shifting and settling on the floor.

“You don’t have to say anything right now. In fact, I’d rather you didn’t. Not until the morning, anyway. I just-

“I want it to be real, you know? Unequivocally real.”

So Derek says nothing. Only stretches a hand off the bunk to rest on Dex’s chest. After a beat, Dex tangles their fingers together. Derek falls asleep like that, Dex’s heartbeat a steady rhythm against his palm.

-

In the morning Derek’s head feels like death. He groans and pushes himself onto his elbow, peering down at where Dex is wrapped around his comforter on the floor. Their hands are still linked, Dex clinging on tight enough that Derek can’t feel his fingertips.

He spends a blissful, stolen moment watching Dex sleep, then bends down to kiss his cheek. Except Derek, being Derek - and hungover to boot - miscalculates and overbalances: waking Dex up not with a gentle kiss, but with the weight of a 200 pound hockey player landing on his midsection.

Dex groans into consciousness. “God _damnit_ , Nursey.”

He smiles in the next moment, though, and in the face of _that_ , Derek can’t find it in himself to be remotely repentant. He folds his arms across Dex’s chest and rests his chin on them, grinning down at his linemate.

Dex stares at him for a moment, then rolls his eyes expressively. “Get down, here, moron.”

Yeah, Derek _really_ isn’t sorry, not when he’s got a sleepy Dex stretched out beneath him, a Dex that apparently _likes_ him, and who’s kissing Derek like he never wants it to end. And yeah, okay, Derek can get on board with that.

**Author's Note:**

> [come talk to me about these nerds <3](http://holtzy.tumblr.com)


End file.
